Free Exit to Eden by Anne Rice Page A

smacked her with the belt.
    "Beast!" she hissed. I pushed between her and the handler, as soon as he looked the other way. When he turned back he didn't seem to notice, just smacked somebody else.
    The blond sort of snuggled against me. And it occurred to me for the first time that the women had it a little easier because you couldn't tell what they were feeling. There wasn't a single male who wasn't fully and humiliatingly erect.
    Whatever the case, this was going to be hell. Being tied up, that was one thing, being made to run with the gang, that was bad enough. But forcing myself down that ramp on my own steam?
If I wasn't ready for it, Martin, they wouldn't take me, right
?
    The crowd seemed to be growing by cell division, as there was a movement everywhere towards the pavilion with a lot of empty tables being instantly filled.
    I wanted to run. I don't mean I really thought to do it. I couldn't have gotten two feet away, but I was really panicky that if they put me up alone on that stage, I'd back off or bolt. My chest was heaving and it was like somebody had given me another shot of aphrodisiac at the same time. And the blond was pressing against me with her sweet soft silky little arms and thighs. I can't go bonkers like that, I was thinking, I can't fail the very first test.
    A white-haired young man with ice-blue eyes was carrying his hand mike back and forth across the pavilion as he told the audience the new postulants were a stunning crop. He had on the same white leather pants and vest as the handlers, shirt open at the throat, but he was wearing a well-tailored white cotton jacket that gave him an even more tropical look.
    Members were crowding up to sit on the grass right by the catwalk. There were clusters of people standing back under the trees.
    Immediately an absolutely delectable tidbit of dark female flesh was forced up into the middle of the pavilion, a handler holding her wrists together over her head. It was better than an out-and-out slave auction, the nude merchandise wriggling in the handler's grip.
    "Alicia from West Germany," the man with the mike announced to a round of applause. And the handler turned Alicia in a circle before pushing her forward to make the long walk down the ramp.
    No, I was thinking, maybe even whistling through my teeth. Just not ready for this. And I ought to feel sorry for her, damn it, instead of staring at her plump little bottom and the blush on her face. I'm in the same fix.
    In a kind of delicious agony, she turned at the end of the walk, and rushed back to the master of ceremonies, obviously straining not to break into a run.
    The crowd was getting louder. Even some of the women had folded themselves up nicely to sit close on the grass.
    Nope, impossible. They can do anything to me where I'm passive, but I can't make myself do that. Yet how many times had I said that at Martin's, and always I managed to do what I was told, right?
    These are small places, Elliott. The Club is enormous
… Yes, but I am ready for it, Martin. Even you said that.
    The next one up was a young man named Marco with a hard tight little backside and an extremely beautiful face. He was blushing as badly as Alicia, and he was stiff as a battering ram.
    ******
    He made the walk awkwardly, but I don't think anybody cared much about that, and it seemed the crowd got rougher, as if a male slave released something in it that the girl had not.
    When I felt the handler gripping my shoulder I couldn't move. I mean, my God, there are fifty other slaves here, give me a break.
    "You gotta do it!" the little blond whispered.
    "You gotta be kidding!" I whispered back.
    "Silence. And move it, Elliott!" The handler went to shove me forward, and was obviously startled that I didn't budge. I couldn't make myself budge. The master of ceremonies turned around to check out the delay. And another handler grabbed hold of my wrists immediately while a third pushed me forward towards the steps.
    I'd always heard the